The beginning of everyth.., p.19
The Beginning of Everything, page 19
In the afternoon I go for a walk, as the weather’s so nice. I’m still exploring; I like to walk round the streets, learning everyone’s cladding and garden ornaments, looking out for interesting stuff. There are some good houses round here, as well as lots of quite ordinary ones. There are several streets of what I assume is ex–council housing: plain, efficient, probably 1950s. The way people personalize these very standard spaces is always interesting. I take pictures of good plants, and make notes, so that one day, if I’m feeling brave, I might come back and ask for a cutting, or some seeds.
If you walk for about fifteen minutes, you pass the old workhouse, which is a fine building, although dilapidated, abandoned. There’s been a fire at some point, and I expect eventually it will be demolished, although this seems a shame. On the other hand, I don’t know if I’d personally want a flat built into something so drenched in misery. I suppose it was better to be in there than outside, dying of hunger. At home, they converted some of the buildings from the old asylum into flats, and they look really great: fine redbrick mid-Victorian things with high ceilings and big windows, representative of a particular kind of municipality. But surely the walls weep with sadness? Perhaps I’m oversensitive.
* * *
Back home, and no sign of Gethin. I wonder if he’ll be back for dinner? I fetch my washing in from the line—is there anything better than line-dried bedding? I really don’t know how I lived somewhere for three years with no outdoor space. (I admit that wasn’t the worst thing about my time there, but you know.) If I’m cooking only for me, I’ll just have pasta.
We’ve mostly cooked together for the last six months, because I’ve been teaching him how to do stuff. I wonder if this might have been a mistake. I think I’ve miscalculated the closeness of our relationship. I’ve allowed myself to be seduced by companionship. Being…friends…has been extremely pleasant and relaxing. Ignoring the attraction between us has somehow made what happened last night seem infinitely more significant.
I think of him muttering “I really like you” into my ear. I really like him, too. Rather too much, if I’m honest. I wonder what would have happened if I’d said yes to brunch. Is there a world where we’d be talking about whether we might be together? I stand in the kitchen for a long time, blankly staring at the contents of the open food cupboard.
If Mitch hadn’t been like he is…but that’s no help. If Mitch was nicer, or I’d never met him, I wouldn’t be here, would I. So if I’m broken (which I am), it’s not like there’s any magical thinking that will change how things are.
I’ve been very attracted to Gethin since…probably since we met, if I’m trying to be honest. I guess this was mutual. We both pretended there was nothing going on there, and we’ve probably swerved a number of situations that could have found us in bed together much earlier. I think of my birthday, and his, dancing in the front room…or just a month ago, when we went to Dryslwyn and got soaked in the rain. That was kind of…I wonder if he was thinking of it then, wondering if he should kiss me. I was certainly wondering if I should kiss him. It’s a good job I didn’t though. I’d have been even more confused and conflicted if this had happened even a few weeks earlier.
* * *
At eight-thirty, I hear the car pull into the drive. It’s nearly ten minutes, though, before the back door opens. Was he sitting out there trying to decide whether to come in? I hope not. What I really want is for everything to be how it was yesterday, before all this happened. Even though I can’t say I wish it hadn’t. If I could go back, and not do it? Yeah, I’m not sorry we did. I wouldn’t change it. It’s a strange mixture of feelings. It’s been difficult to put it out of my mind, despite all the practice I’ve had with not thinking about important things.
I hear him in the kitchen, filling the kettle. Then he’s looking round the sitting room door.
“Making some tea,” he says. “D’you want one?”
“Oh, thank you. Yes, that would be great. There are cookies,” I add.
“What kind?”
“Those chocolate ones you like? Granny Boyd’s.”
“Oho, homemade?”
“Yeah, they’re in that box by the toaster.” Why did I make cookies? It’s like an apology, and I’m not completely comfortable with that. I had all the ingredients out before I’d really thought about it.
“Cool,” he says, and vanishes again.
Okay. So maybe it will be fine. Please let it be fine.
Even though I’m anxious, it’s interesting not to be afraid. I’m never afraid he’ll be angry with me. It’s one of the best things about him.
Chapter Seventeen
I’m meeting Kate in town, after work. We’re going to walk to her house, and Gethin’s going to meet us there, and she’s going to feed us and introduce us to her partner and any of her children who might be about, as well as some other friends. She didn’t come to Gethin’s party because they were away, and it’s a while since I’ve seen her.
I’m dead nervous. Not sure why exactly, apart from the fact that she’s very cool, and I want her to like me, I suppose. I like Maura and the restaurant girls, but their idea of socializing is very different from mine. I can’t handle too many nights in too-loud pubs that mostly sell cocktails, or indeed that end up in a provincial nightclub.
I walk slowly up Victoria Street, enjoying the sunshine. Kate’s waiting outside the gallery, leaning against the wall. She waves, and I hurry over to her.
“Hello,” she says, “how are you? Good day?”
“Oh, well. Yes, it was fine. My job’s not very exciting. Although I do quite like it. How was yours?”
“Yes, a good day today. And such lovely weather. I admit I was worried.”
“Worried?”
“Usually if you mention any sort of outdoor event it guarantees rain.”
“Oh yes,” I say with a laugh, “I’ve already been to two indoor barbecues this summer.”
We cross the road.
“I’m lucky to live so close to work,” she says. “It only takes me ten minutes, and if I could walk properly it would probably only be five.”
I’m not sure whether to ask about her leg, so I don’t.
“Being able to walk to work is a great thing,” I agree. “I’ve never fancied commuting, although I did have a job I needed to get the bus to for a while.”
“What did you do before you came here? Oh, you did the antiques thing, didn’t you? That must have been fun. You must have seen loads of cool stuff.”
“Yes. And some fab buildings, when we did clearances. Johnny knew all sorts of people. Useful connections.”
“Why did you break up?”
“With Johnny? Oh…he started sleeping with someone else. Imagine.”
“Were you together for a long time?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Yes, but it was a long time ago. It annoys me that it was the longest I’ve ever been with someone. He was…well, we did have a lot of fun. I wish we could have lived somewhere warmer though. Our house was a bit…broken.”
She laughs. “Was it? How?”
I explain the house to her, finishing with “…and it was freezing cold nine months of the year. No heating, huge windows, howling drafts.”
“Being cold sucks,” she says. “I couldn’t live somewhere without heating.”
“I’ve done it more often than I’d choose. It doesn’t get any better.”
* * *
Kate’s house is lovely. It’s Victorian, elegant, with blindingly bright white render, like a house at the seaside, or an old-fashioned wedding cake. There are huge bay windows and intricate railings. Inside, as anticipated, everything’s very, very stylish. It’s painted in shades of white, and there are beautiful original tiles on the floor of the hall. A hugely imposing mahogany banister curls up the stairs. As we walk along the passage, I catch glimpses of the sitting room and the dining room, both equally pale, with big abstract paintings in blues and grays. I wonder if they’re Kate’s own work. The back has been extended to cover that side return thing you get on Victorian houses, so there’s a huge kitchen diner with a vast skylight and exposed brick and yards of worktop. Plants everywhere, a big pine table. Through the open glass doors, a hint of barbecue smoke. You can tell she’s got a great eye; everything is so beautiful. You could slap the whole place on an interiors website without even tidying up.
“Now,” she says, laying her bag on the table, “I’ll get you a drink, and introduce you to people. What would you like? We have most things.” She opens the fridge. “Gin? Homemade lemonade? Or there’s wine, or Coke, or fizzy water, or…”
“Lemonade’s fine, thank you,” I say, looking round rather enviously. Why on earth didn’t Gethin buy something like this? Then I feel a bit disloyal to Sunnyside. And if he had bought something else, we’d never have met. That’s a strange thought. I feel suddenly dizzy. I can’t think there’s anyone else in the world who would have reacted to my presence the way he did. Someone else would have called the police, perhaps, and thrown my belongings away. I close my eyes and breathe deeply to calm myself. That didn’t happen. I don’t need to worry about things that didn’t happen.
Since the party things have been…not as awkward as I feared. Although for a while I retreated to my room, it didn’t last long, because he’d come upstairs and knock on my door to say, “Fancy watching Bill and Ted?” Or, “If you had to choose a Muppet film, which would you choose?” Or, “Hey, Jurassic Park’s on. Do you know how to make popcorn?” I’m grateful to the films of my youth for enabling us to reframe things, or construct a new version of the way we are together, or something, and everything seems to be fine, which is a relief.
Kate leads the way out to the garden, which is partially paved, with a square of grass and some topiary, a garage at the back covered in Virginia creeper. There’s a big, fancy barbecue, a smaller, less fancy one—for vegetarian barbecue, I guess—a variety of tasteful garden furniture, and a number of people. A tall man in jeans and an ancient band T-shirt stands at the barbecue, talking to another, shorter man with a glass of wine and a linen shirt–cargo shorts combo, which leads me to anticipate, accurately, boat shoes. The bigger man is Sam, presumably. Sitting at a circular stone table are two women, one with short orange hair (satsuma-colored, I mean, not ginger) and one with expensively ashy blond tresses in an artfully messy bun. On a sun lounger farther away on the grass, a teenage girl in sunglasses is looking at her phone.
“Sam,” says Kate, “this is Jess.”
He looks round from his conversation and grins at me. He’s very attractive, with good hair, longish, graying, and a big smile. He hooks the giant pair of tongs he’d been using on the barbecue and wipes his hands on a tea towel before striding toward us, hand held out for me to shake.
They introduce me to everyone else. The man is Steve; he’s married to the blonde, who has one of those posh nicknames that I don’t quite catch. Plum? Pom? The woman with orange hair is Tanya. The teenager is the younger of Sam and Kate’s daughters, Lamorna. She doesn’t look up, but who can blame her; she’s here for the food and maybe a sly glass of wine, not to chat with her parents’ mates.
“So you’re a plant person,” Sam says, smiling at me. “Always good to meet a fellow gardener.”
“Oh, well…that’s a…I suppose I am a bit? I do like plants. And…stuff.” It’s almost embarrassing to say this to someone who gardens professionally.
“You’re doing your garden, though?”
“Yes, kind of.” I consider this statement. Come on, Jess, be more assertive. “No, I am…or fiddling with what’s there already. It’s a good size; there are some nice trees…it’s been fun to think about what might suit it. I’ve never had the opportunity before, really.”
“Kate said you’d been thinking about maybe coming to do our apprenticeship?”
“I don’t know. I’d just been thinking about doing something new. But I might be a bit old to start again.”
“Never too old,” he says, laughing. They make a horribly attractive couple. He’s definitely the best-looking bloke I’ve seen since I moved here, almost movie-star handsome.
“I don’t know. It’s quite physical, isn’t it?”
“You can soon move on to telling people what to do,” he says. We smile at each other.
“I ought to look into it,” I say. “I think I need to do something more…something I can be more engaged with…than office admin. I’ve always loved gardening, and gardens…I don’t know.”
“Well, if you want to come up for a look round, let me know.”
* * *
I talk to Sam and Kate and the others. More people arrive—a gay couple who are both called Robin, which seems confusing, or maybe not. They live in Llanelli and own a beauty salon. One of them works there, but the other one—who has amazing tattoos of birds (birds of paradise, I think—or maybe they’re invented?) on both forearms—does book illustration. He sees me looking at his tats—they really are stunning—and winks at me. He’s known Sam since school. As well as the Robins, I’m introduced to a very pregnant woman in a hijab, Parandis, who works with Kate at the gallery, and her husband, Hasan, who’s a junior doctor and works at the hospital.
I watch Sam begin to cook things, and help Kate bring bowls of salad, plates of bread, and trays of dips and sauces out to the garden. I feel…I don’t know. I wonder if I’ll ever be fully relaxed and comfortable ever again. Eventually, perhaps. I don’t know how long you have to know people before you can be completely yourself in their company. I’m still cautious, worried about making people like me, even though that’s not actually a thing. People like you or they don’t.
I think I imagined that leaving home would be like when I went to university, when you’re thrown into a mass of other people your age who don’t know anyone, all on an equal footing. Instead, of course, I’m an interloper, an extra. Then again, I wonder if it actually never occurred to me to think about this side of it at all. Did I imagine I’d be making new friends? Not really. I just wanted to be somewhere else; I’m not sure it ever crossed my mind that I’d need to build a social life. I don’t remember this being a problem when I moved to Brighton, but again, it’s much easier when you’re young, and everyone else is young, and anyway, Brighton’s always full of other people who’ve just moved there.
I’m waiting for Gethin to arrive and worrying about this. Even if he’s the person I know best, I should try not to be so…needy. When I hear his voice, I sit up and look round, like a dog. I can practically feel my tail wagging.
It’s because he’s the only person I really know, I tell myself, but I know it’s not just that. He’s talking to a second long-legged and beautiful teenager, who must be Kate and Sam’s eldest, Zennor. She’s laughing at whatever he’s saying. I watch as he looks round the garden, taking everything in, until he sees me and smiles a wide smile of relief.
“Oh, you’re here! I tried to ring you,” he says, coming over. “Is your phone off?”
“It might be. Hello. How was work?”
“Oh, you know, same old same old,” he says. “Is there room for me?”
I’m sitting on a wicker sofa beside a man called Matt, who works with Sam. We’ve been talking about gardens, unsurprisingly. I shift up slightly, and Gethin squeezes in beside me. There isn’t really room for three people, or at least, for three people who don’t want to touch one another. Especially when two of them are men, who are no good at sitting neatly. Gethin and I are pressed together, hip to knee. I try to ignore it but it’s tricky. And what do we do with our arms?
“Sorry,” he says, “I thought there was more room than this. It’s a bit cozy, isn’t it. Are you okay?”
I know he’s asking because of what happened. It’s not like he can say “Do you mind if I touch you?” while Matt’s here. And what would I say? It isn’t that I mind, after all.
“I can move, if you want?”
“God, no. No, it’s fine.” I elbow him gently in the ribs. “I mean, it is a bit snug. Lucky you’re not one of those beefy rugby types.”
“Pfft.”
* * *
“Do you want me to phone a cab?” he says. “Or shall we walk? It’s a fair way.”
“Oh, we can walk, can’t we? It’s not cold, and it’s easier to walk home when you’ve had a drink, isn’t it, because you don’t notice so much.”
“This is true.”
We say goodbye to our hosts, and Kate says, “We really should have lunch, Jess. I’ll message you.”
“All right,” I say, “I’d love to. Thank you.” I try to imagine myself as Kate’s friend, her actual friend, not just a peculiar add-on. I almost can. We might go to exhibitions, perhaps, and shopping. She could advise me about elegant linen-based outfits and we could discuss documentaries we’ve watched, and the latest novels.
She probably has all the friends she needs, though.
Things are loud and confusing for a moment, too many people in the hallway, others leaving too. Then we’re outside in the cool darkness.
“There,” says Gethin. “Okay? Did you enjoy yourself? Sam’s nice, isn’t he?”
“He is. Very handsome.”
